


Power Play

by nochick_fics



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:13:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nochick_fics/pseuds/nochick_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy Mustang doesn't submit... until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anotherFMAfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherFMAfan/gifts).



> Originally posted to LiveJournal on 10/1/12.

 

“I think that Breda has a thing for Hawkeye.”

Jean looked up from his glass and considered Roy’s statement.  Their eyes met in the dim light of the inn’s room where Roy sat on one side of the bed and Jean the other, a half-empty bottle of liquor and a wretchedly-patterned bedspread the only thing that separated them.

“Hm.”  He took a sip of his drink, wincing at its warmth.  Some ice would have definitely helped, but it was hardly a necessity, seeing as they would not be drinking for much longer.  “Understandable,” he said, running a finger along the rim of the glass.  “If you’re into that sort of thing.”

This was not to say that Jean himself was not into that sort of thing because he was, in spite of present company.  And while he was hardly blind--she had a great ass, for instance--he never really thought about her in that way.  Riza Hawkeye was Roy’s right hand and most trusted lieutenant (something that stuck in Jean’s craw more than he would ever admit) and so devoted to the task of keeping him in line that it was hard to see her any other way.

Sometimes he wondered if Roy did.  The man was just as well known for his appetite for the ladies as he was for his military prowess, and seeing as how Hawkeye had a vagina, she would not be immune to the hunt.  But perhaps it was for the best that he never found out.

“Yeah,” Roy replied, topping off his glass.

When he offered no further reply, Jean followed suit.  He tried not to dwell so much on the jolt that raced through him when their fingers grazed against each other as Roy handed him the bottle.  It was difficult enough having to act somewhat civilized when all he wanted to do was pounce and strip and ravage.

They made small talk for another twenty minutes or so, discussing mundane things, unimportant things like Hughes’ camera fetish and Ed’s bratty mouth and Armstrong's frighteningly inappropriate penchant for semi-nudity, as if that was the real reason that they rented the room in the first place.  It was frustrating because Jean was, quite frankly, horny as hell.  But he put up with it like he always did, because it was all a part of the game.

After the last drop was poured from the bottle, Roy got up from the bed and walked over to a small trashcan that sat near a desk by the door.  He tossed it in, where it fell with a decisive clonk, and downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.  He then placed the empty glass on the desk and stared at Jean, waiting.

Jean could see the storm of opposing sentiments brewing just behind his eyes.  There was lust--obviously, or they wouldn't have been there--and a touch of resentment as well, as if it was somehow Jean’s fault that Roy enjoyed being fucked up the ass.  He understood on some level that it must have been difficult for a man like Roy, an alpha male in every single sense of the word, to temporarily surrender his pride in exchange for submitting sexually to another man.  But Jean had never forced him into that position (no pun intended); in fact it was Roy who had, from the very beginning, all but _demanded_ that Jean fuck him in a wide variety of ways.

He polished off his own drink and set the glass down on the nightstand.  Roy was silent as Jean approached him, their eyes locked in a type of stalemate.  It was futile, really, because it always ended the same way, with Jean buried deep inside of him, one way or the other.  But if this momentary defiance allowed Roy to reconcile his ego with his urge to be had, then Jean would wait it out, as usual.

Not that it ever took long.

Jean gasped sharply as he was suddenly forced against the door.  Roy’s breath was hot against his neck, his cock hard against Jean’s thigh, and Jean clenched his teeth as a pair of hands smoothed over his chest and stomach, deft fingers gently massaging the muscle underneath his shirt.

“I think you enjoy this entirely too much,” Roy murmured, circling Jean’s nipples with his thumbs.

This, Jean realized, being the reluctant forfeiture of Roy’s dominance.  And what could he say?  It was an undeniable truth.  However…

“So do you,” he shot back as his hand snaked its way between Roy’s legs.

Roy closed his eyes and shuddered when Jean began fondling him, and the blond took advantage of the moment by cupping his free hand behind Roy’s neck and pulling him into a deep and hungry kiss that was all lips and tongues and heat and longing.   Something in Jean broke loose, and the balance of power shifted.  He was done standing idly by and waiting for further instruction.  The time had come to take the lead.

Bodies slammed against the door again, grinding and rubbing and getting naked not nearly fast enough for their mutual liking.  Jean thought about having him right there against the cool wood (they had done it once before and it had been  _absolutely fucking fantastic_ ) but he decided that he was in the mood for something a little more traditional instead.  He seized Roy by the forearm and pulled him across the room, and then roughly pushed him down on the bed.  While Roy’s glare of warning would have normally caused Jean to panic over whatever wrath awaited, it was now negated by the flushed face, heaving chest, and hard cock that accompanied it.  Indeed, it was hard to look all that vengeful when one was lying naked with legs spread wide.

Jean climbed onto the bed, sliding his body alongside Roy’s until all the important parts were lined up.  He kissed him again, and proceeded to do his damnedest to hump him right through the sheets while doing so, until they were both aching and covered in each other’s slick.  Jean reached over the bed and fumbled for the lube, then went to work stretching Roy open, digit by teasing digit until the other man was moaning and arching beneath him, fucking himself shamelessly on Jean’s fingers.

Although he could have watched Roy debase himself well into the night, his cock, on the other hand, was proving not to be so patient.  Jean positioned himself between Roy’s legs, took a moment to memorize the sight of his commanding officer wet and open and ready, and pressed forward, pushing further into Roy’s body with each frustratingly controlled thrust of his hips.

Jean exhaled shakily when he was finally all the way inside.  The sensation was almost unbearable.  He began to move as slowly as he could stand, biting into his lip as he eased in and out of all that tightness and warmth. Roy wrapped his legs around him and bore down with a tortured groan, hips snapping upward, urging him on, and Jean started fucking him faster, harder, deeper, until he was blinded by his desire, insane with it. 

He buried his face in Roy’s neck to muffle his moaning--an action made meaningless by the loud creaking of the bed--and he reached between their bodies to grab onto Roy’s cock.  Stroke and thrust, thrust and stroke, again and again until the sound of a low whimper hit his ears, teeth bit into his shoulder, and pulsing and wetness filled his palm.  Roy was still throbbing in his hand as Jean slammed into him one last time, and he came so hard that the world went white around him. He fell on top of the other man, a trembling shell of himself.  
  
Afterwards, Jean carefully released Roy’s softening shaft and let his hand land against the bed, sticky and all.  Someone was going to have to deal with that, a thought that made him feel a tad bit guilty in the midst of all the afterglow.

Roy’s legs remained locked around him for a little while longer, holding him close, until exhaustion got the better of him.  Jean pulled out of him carefully and flopped over onto his back, and there they rested side by side, catching their breath and contemplating the ceiling.   

“Mind if I smoke?” Jean asked later.

He didn't have to look at Roy to know that the man was shaking his head.  Jean reached for his pack of cigarettes--hard work, all things considered--and lit one with a hand that was not quite steady.  Or dry. Smoke filled the room, along with silence.  Although no words passed between them, and although Jean had just fucked his boss astoundingly well, he could feel the balance of power shifting back to its rightful place.  By the time he took his last drag and stubbed out the butt, he was once again nothing more than a mere peon who existed solely to do the bidding of his superior officer.

Since Roy was probably in no position to move yet, let alone shower and dress, Jean thought it only fair that he go first.  He sat up with a tired grunt and started to get out of the bed--

“Havoc.”

Jean turned to look at Roy, and damned if his cock didn't twitch as he regarded the man lying there, hair disheveled against the pillow, stomach and crotch and thighs smeared with cum.  
  
“Yeah?”

“...Fuck me again.”

Well then. What kind of subordinate would Jean be if he did not follow orders?

_“Yes Sir.”_


End file.
